


If Things Were Different

by directedbysherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF Lestrade, F/M, First Kiss, Fist Fights, John Watson's Wedding, Lestrolly, Molstrade, beginning relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/directedbysherlock/pseuds/directedbysherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to Molly after Sherlock leaves John and Mary's wedding. Molly falls out of love with Tom and into the arms of Greg Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Things Were Different

Molly stepped outside into the darkness as soon as she could get away after the song ended. The smell of smoke was in the air, and she followed it around the corner. Maybe Sherlock had stopped to have a cigarette before he left.

Greg Lestrade was alone, leaning against a stone wall ringing a small patio, smoking a cigarette. His tie was loosened around his neck, hanging down a few inches, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. A full beer glass was balanced precariously on the railing next to him.

“If you’re looking for Sherlock,” he said, “he just got into a cab and left.”

“Oh.” Molly sighed. “Did he look ok?”

Greg shrugged. “Couldn’t tell. It’s too dark.”

The night air felt good against her skin. She had been dancing and the room had become hot and stuffy with so many people in the small space, and the music had been loud. Some of the company a little oppressive. It was nice to escape outside for a while. She came over to stand next to Greg, her back to the railing as well.

She looked up at him. “Having a good time?” She hadn’t seen him on the dance floor, not after John and Mary’s waltz had ended.

“Yeah," he said. “Pretty exciting night. Can’t remember ever making an arrest for attempted murder before at a wedding. You?”

“Weddings are always nice,” she said a little absently, tilting her head, deep in thought. “Although, after that Best Man’s speech, I’m not entirely sure who just married who… I don’t think Sherlock’s ok.”

Greg crossed his arms in front of him. “You think that he..?" Greg started to say, but stopped and reflected for a few moments. Then he nodded. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

He took the last drag of his cigarette, threw it down and ground it out under his heel, then settled back against the railing again with arms crossed again. “Bloody awful timing. Guess it’s not easy, coming back from the dead. People move on.”

A few more moments of silence passed. He looked up and made a careful study of the strings of lights draped across the tree branches overhead, which lent a soft glow to everything around them. “You’ll be getting married soon. Probably the next wedding I’ll go to.”

Molly frowned. The thought didn’t make her happy, not like it should have. In fact, it made her feel a little panicked. She'd been putting off picking a wedding date for weeks. The whole relationship was starting to take on a slightly desperate feel, like they were trying too hard to hold things together. All the forced gaiety of the evening was wearing on her; in fact, it was fucking exhausting. Feeling a need for a drink, she suddenly reached across Greg, her bare arm brushing against his suit where his arms were crossed, and grabbed the full beer glass balanced on the railing.

Greg just raised his eyebrows as he watched her empty most of it in one drink.

“Impressive,” he said. He looked speculative, but she was thankful he didn’t ask anything more.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. "I just drank your beer.”

Greg laughed. “That’s ok. I’ve had my fair share, and then some.”

“Bit drunk, then?” Molly teased lightly, his laugh lifting her mood a little. He could always make her smile.

He leaned down closer to her. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, whispering conspiratorially.

Molly laughed as well. “Me, too,” she whispered back. She finished the rest of the beer in one gulp and set the empty glass down on the railing with a resounding _whack_ of glass on stone. Tom was probably wondering where she was, but she didn’t feel like going back in yet.

Greg was still leaning down towards her, and he spoke again, close to her ear. “Well, since we’ve both had a few drinks, maybe you won’t blame me too much if I said you look beautiful. I wanted to tell you that all night. You look really beautiful.”

Molly looked up at him, startled. His silvery hair was gleaming under the lights, and his eyes, so dark brown they were almost black, looked down at her, unreadable.

“Thank you,” she answered, a little uncertainly. “You, too. I mean, you look nice, too.” He really was very attractive, she found herself thinking. She had noticed that before, of course, but there was always an invisible line they never crossed. Wives, divorces, then ex-wives, then engagements and the like had always seemed to make it a non-issue, anyway.

Neither said anything for a few moments. The music was still playing loudly, filling the silence, but outside it was muted a little. The frantic music began to fade, and a slow dance song came on next.

“Molls,” he said suddenly. “Have a dance with me.”

Molly was momentarily paralyzed. What a thought, dancing with DI Greg Lestrade. Her cheeks flushed pink. He was Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade now, newly promoted. Respected but a little feared in the Yard, he was prone to epic tire kicking sessions when frustrated. But also he could be funny, kind and patient, with both colleagues and criminals, when the occasion allowed. They had been colleagues for a long time, and friends; probably she saw his lighter side more often than most. But she couldn’t remember ever having been that physically close to him, socially anyway, as slow dancing would require. He had instructed her in some self-defence classes before, which did involve some touching, but it had all been very professional. What would Tom think? Then again, who cared what Tom thought. He had been on her every last nerve lately. It was a wedding. People danced with other people at weddings. Nothing wrong with that.

She blinked, realizing she had mentally deliberated for quite some time while he waited for a response. Jesus, it was just a dance. But it felt like a bigger deal than that for some reason.

She smiled shyly, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “Ok, yeah. I’d like that.”

Without hesitation he reached out and slid one arm around her waist, and took one of her hands in his own. She reached up and tentatively laid her other hand on his shoulder, her fingertips lightly exploring the new and unknown environment before settling in. It was a little strange, at first, but he proved to be very competent. They moved around the patio, Greg leading confidently and unselfconsciously, which made it all seem fine. The space between them, which at first would have passed inspection by a Victorian-era chaperone, began to diminish little by little.

“You’re a good dancer,” Molly finally said, breaking the silence. “Thank god, because I’m not.”

“I’m ok at this. I’m not much good at the freestyle stuff. You’re doing great.”

Molly felt herself relaxing, closed her eyes, becoming more confident that she would not stumble. They seemed to follow each other well; no one had lost any toes yet. She was pleasantly buzzed. The song they were dancing to ended after another few minutes, but another slow one started and they just kept on without stopping. The quiet and darkness outside was very soothing, but it was getting cooler. She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, and she nodded. She felt him hesitate for a moment and guessed that he wanted to hold her closer but wasn’t sure if he should. She answered the unspoken question by completely closing the distance between them. It was nice to just let go of everything for a while. Her cheek rested against his lapels which smelled of smoke and cologne. One hand moved from her waist to her back to hold her more tightly to him. His other hand held hers against his chest, pinned between them. Her head just fit in the space just under his chin, which he rested lightly on her hair. She could feel the steady beat of his heart.

She felt warm. And comfortable. She hadn’t expected to feel so comfortable in the arms of Greg Lestrade, hadn’t really expected to find herself here. As if right at that moment, she was where she belonged. It should have felt more awkward; this was feeling very personal, with the sound and feel of his heart so close to her ear, the heat of his body against the length of hers, the cool grey-blue fabric of his suit jacket against her skin, but it didn’t.

They danced through the second song, and then a third, as the block of slow dances continued. Molly felt light, like she was in a very pleasant dream, her eyes still shut, until a vague realization that something was different finally roused her. They had stopped moving. The music had stopped playing. She opened her eyes to find Greg looking down at her, studying her face, his hands on her shoulders. For a moment, one breathless moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. When he didn’t, she was surprised by the depth of her own disappointment.

He started to say something. “I wish-”

“Molly! There you are!”

Christ. It was Tom, coming around the corner. Molly instantly stiffened in response. She was wary of the tone of his voice, which sounded different, and felt a little guilty to be caught in Greg Lestrade’s arms on a dark and private patio.

“I wish things were different,” he finished quietly. Greg looked at Tom over the top of her head, meeting the other man’s glare full on, his expression darkening. With Tom’s eyes still locked on him, his hands slid slowly down her bare arms before he took a step back, finally letting her go.

Tom advanced, looking from her to Lestrade and back again. “So this is where you’ve been,” he said accusingly, his words a little slurred. “You’ve been gone a long time.” He looked back at Lestrade again. “I might have guessed.”

“I’m just dancing with a friend.” Molly said, defensively. If she was tipsy, Tom seemed outright drunk. It was more than a little disturbing. He didn’t seem like a happy drunk at all.

Greg reached into his pocket, leisurely took out a cigarette and lit it. “It’s just a dance, mate,” he said casually, taking a drag and blowing it out slowly, but his eyes were dangerously alert.

“You seem unusually close to your _friends_ , Molly,” Tom said sarcastically. “Thirty minutes is a pretty long dance.” He took a step closer to Lestrade and pointed at him aggressively. “I’ve seen how you look at her. Tonight and every other time I’ve seen you. You’re always around her like a fucking bodyguard. Don’t think I don’t know what’s on your mind.”

Greg held up a hand in warning. “Just take it easy.”

“Actually, why don’t you just fuck off?” Tom stumbled forward and to Molly’s surprise, took a swing at Greg Lestrade. She watched Greg transform immediately from wedding guest to cop in under two seconds. With cigarette dangling from his lip, Greg stepped aside and easily caught Tom’s arm as it passed him by, then bent it behind Tom’s back as he shoved him against the stone railing.

“Lesson number one,” Greg said. “Never pick a fight with a cop.” He gave him another shove into the railing for emphasis before letting him go, then repeated sternly, “Now take it easy.”

Tom pulled his arm forward. “Prick,” he muttered, but suddenly, unwisely, struck out once more. Lestrade easily grabbed his arm again and this time took him face-first to the ground, holding him down with a knee on his back. Tom laid there a few seconds, then groaned, held a hand up to signal his surrender.

Greg let go of Tom and straightened up. He took the cigarette that had still been dangling from his lips and pointed at Tom with it as he spoke. “Lesson number two, don’t pick a fight when you're drunk.” He took the last drag, threw it to the side. “Damn _amateurs_.”

Molly shook her head to clear it. “Ok, that’s enough. Both of you. Time to go home, Tom.” She leaned down to help him up. “I’ll get you a cab.” She wasn’t going with him, that was for sure. She’d figure out her own plans later.

Tom brushed off his pants and glared at Lestrade but his remark was meant for Molly. “All your friends are a bunch of psychos.”

“Go get your cab or I’ll throw you out in a police car,” Greg said darkly.

Later, in the driveway in front of the dance hall, Molly watched the cab drive away with a sullen Tom inside, her thoughts in disarray. She heard gravel crunch behind her. She knew who it was already.

“Everything ok?” Greg asked.

“I sincerely doubt that,” she answered glumly, not turning around.

“Didn’t cause you any more problems, did he?” he asked again.

Molly shook her head, frowning. “I’ve never seen him like that before.” She breathed out slowly, releasing the pent up stress. That could have been much worse. Greg Lestrade could have done some damage to Tom, but he didn’t. Just calmly put him down twice and didn’t even leave a scratch. She could almost see some dark humor in the situation. “I wasn’t too worried. I think I could take him. You taught me yourself, obviously I learned from the best.”

He laughed quietly, a hint of pride in his voice. “That’s my girl,” he said.

She turned around. What an interesting expression he used. That was exactly the root of the fiasco; she wasn’t his girl. Got caught acting like she was, though. But maybe...she might like to be. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but it rang true. She studied him standing there, hands in his pockets, so unassuming but so lethal. So quietly, ruggedly handsome.

“I probably deserved that punch,” he said. “Both of them. In his place, I might have done the same.” He looked down. “I would have been jealous, too.”

Molly sighed again. Nothing had happened, really. “No, we didn’t do anything wrong. He was just drunk. And mad about a lot of other things.”

She thought for a moment, and suddenly felt guilt come over her. The words gushed out. “Everything’s all messed up. It has been for a while. I wasn’t very nice to him tonight and then I stabbed him with a fork. Plastic, but still, not cool. I mean, who does that? I won’t set a wedding date. We bickered all day. I left him alone for a long time with people he doesn’t know. I danced too close with another man and liked it too much. We faked looking happy in wedding pictures.” She looked down at her hands, which she held clasped together in front of her. “I am a really bad fiancee.”

 _And I don’t love Tom anymore, if I ever did_ , she mentally added to her list of failures. She was shocked the thought came so easily. She could not have admitted it to herself before now.

He was silent for a moment, internally debating something, the conflict etched on his features. “I’m a bad liar,” he said suddenly, intensely. “I can’t pretend anymore. Tom was right. I wanted to kiss you. All night. Even right there in front of your sodding boyfriend. I wanted him to see me do it and then I wanted him to disappear. And he knows it. That's really why he tried to punch me. It’s not your fault.”

Molly glanced up from her hands and stood transfixed, watching him speak. It was doing things to her, the way he was talking so frankly and intensely and the image of him kissing her - while Tom watched - filled her with extremely erotic thoughts. She had stood in his arms just minutes ago, thinking he might do it, wanting him to.

He sighed, ran a hand over the top of his head. “And now you know it, too, didn’t really intend for that to happen.” He took a deep breath. “Dammit, I still want to kiss you, right now.” He turned to her, then with some effort turned away again, his foot pivoting in the gravel with a crunching sound. For the first time all evening, he looked rattled and seemed to make a quick decision. “I should just go.” He started to raise a hand to hail one of the cabs waiting further down the driveway.

Her toes curled in her shoes, her heart quickened. What would it would be like, if he actually did that, kissed her right now. He was a decent man, just trying like hell to respect the normal social rules of her engagement. Which was exactly why he wouldn’t actually do it, despite wanting to and saying so.

But exactly why _she_ would. Screw the rules. These were her rules to break.

Molly took a sudden step forward and grabbed his loose tie, bringing his head down to her level and she kissed him full on. He was momentarily startled, but only for a moment. The hand that was up in the air came down to the back of her head, pulling her even closer. She knew it was reckless, anybody might see them. She didn’t care. She only cared about the feel of his lips on hers, the rough feel of his cheek grazing her skin, the feel of his hands at her waist.

She lost all track of time as his arms wrapped around her and nearly lifted her off her feet to better access and explore the sensitive area just below her earlobe, which made her cry out softly and swear inarticulately. She only cared about the way his skin tasted where his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, the feel of hard muscle under his jacket where her hands roamed. Only coming back to their senses when a cab pulled up several feet away and a group of people got out, loud and self-absorbed. They paid no attention to the couple who had just pulled apart in the darkness, each taking a moment to slow their breathing and compose themselves.

Finally he reached out gently, hand curving around the nape of her neck, his thumb lightly stroking the soft skin of her throat just under her ear and rested his forehead against hers. Her head involuntarily dipped towards his hand, her cheek brushing against it. She shuddered under his touch. In such a short time he had already discovered her secret weakness, her most sensitive spot.

“Shit,” he said, unceremoniously but sincerely, the first to speak. “That was....”

“Really, really good,” she finished for him. _Devastatingly good. Possibly life-changing good_.

“Yeah. That.” He kissed her softly and slowly, just once, before he removed his hand from her neck and looked down, took hold of her left hand. He lightly touched the engagement ring before he released her hand again. “Bloody awful timing, though,” he said quietly. They both knew that was true. The question of Tom lingered in the air. “You’ll want some time to think,” he guessed. “It’s ok.”

She nodded. She didn’t know what more to say. Nothing that had happened this night was expected, and she would need some time to make sense of it. She didn’t know what he was thinking, his current expression was inscrutable, but he seemed to understand. Things had gotten serious, fast, and they could both use some lightening up. She said the first thing that came to her mind.

“So... I might need to know this someday. Is there a lesson number three..?”

Greg’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile but failing. “Yeah. Don’t pick a fight with a drunk cop.”

 _Or provoke a drunk cop into snogging you into mindlessness. Too late_. She snorted. “That’s pretty important. That should be lesson number one.” She looked towards the hall, where the music was playing and the party was still in full swing. Inevitably there would be questions to answer, dilemmas to solve. But nothing was going to reach resolution that night. She could feel the cool night breeze again. “Let’s go back in, it’s getting cold. And I owe you a beer.”

He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Sounds good.” He smiled then, and she was relieved. They seemed to be finding their way back to a friendly equilibrium, at least for the moment.

She hoped things were going to turn out ok with Greg Lestrade. And, maybe, much better than ok.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a stand-alone but also appears as a chapter in my longer fic also posted called "Never the Right Time."


End file.
